The Penitence of the Worm (2)

Dawn in the Dungeon

A dry sound from somewhere above me wakes me up. The weight of the shackles reminds me where I am: trapped, crucified on the bed. The natural light filtering through the small grate in the ceiling makes me assume it’s already day, though I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been asleep. The sound seemed like a door closing, so I sense that my Master has arrived.

I hold my breath to perceive any sound, but the seconds pass and the silence persists. Did he come while I was sleeping and then leave? I turn my head, and the little light that gets through allows me to see the shadows in the room. It’s a small cell with black stone walls, and a tiny sink and toilet in one corner. A grated door separates it from the staircase. Now that I look closely, it seems more like a bathroom, but with the harshness and purpose of a cell. On the wall, near the grate, my Master has placed two rings above head height and two more at hip height. I imagine there’s also a pair near the floor, though from this position I can’t see them.

My cock gets excited, rubbing against the metal cage that holds it captive. I know how much my Master enjoys tormenting me when he holds me against the wall: sometimes from the front to destroy my nipples and skin with clamps; other times, from behind to give me lashings until my skin is torn and inflamed.

I hear the hard sound of His boots coming down the stairs. He has arrived. I turn my eyes to the ceiling and fix them on the grate, which reminds me that I no longer belong to that world of light and peace, and that my first day of penitence is starting. When I serve Him, I don’t look Him in the eyes, and I don’t want Him to find me inspecting the space.

I can glimpse His shadow as the door opens. He remains silent, and so do I. He approaches and covers my head with the rubber mask He likes so much, the one with only a hole for the mouth. I like to call it the “worm mask,” as it nullifies my senses, enclosing my head and leaving me only a hole for sucking and licking. The jingle of a buckle anticipates a new collar that closes the mask. I feel that it’s the rubber one, thinner and harder than the usual one. He takes His time freeing me from the shackles and massaging the areas that have been in contact with them all night. They don’t feel injured, but they’re a little sensitive from the hours of metal rubbing.

There are no words, no caresses, no kisses, and that’s how it should be. I am guided only by my desire to please Him with my pain and my surrender. A great sense of gratitude washes over me when the strap closes on the collar and He firmly guides me to get on all fours on the floor. The pungent and warm scent of the rubber penetrates my nose, exciting and comforting me as I kneel.

A loud crack is followed by a searing pain that runs through my body from my butt to my brain, like thunder following a lightning strike. I can’t help but groan, but I don’t utter a word. I only hear His breathing, a little ragged from the sadistic pleasure of tormenting me by surprise. I grab His boots and wait for the second crack, a dull sound followed by the pain of my skin breaking from the impact of a short whip. And another. And another. I count in my head, but I know that this time I don’t know how long it will go on. The worm sessions are tests of physical and mental endurance, and although I feel the security that He will stop if I say the safe words, I need to show Him that I will endure today.

The pause comes when I have counted fifty. The leather of His pants creaks in my ears as He bends down, and I feel His hand run over the damaged skin of my butt. The touch of His hand calms me and brings me peace, despite the painful feeling on my skin. He pulls away from me, probably to leave the whip on the bed, and returns to pull my neck towards the back wall, where I sense the rings are.

I feel the firmness of some restraints closing first on my wrists, followed by others that tighten on my ankles. A few seconds later, I am lifted by the pressure of the strap pulling me up, strangling me, raised like a blind puppet, trapped between the cold, strangely smooth wall and His body. He spreads my legs with His boots and grabs my hands upward until the metallic sound of some clasps confirms that I am secured to the stone. He places a wide strap around my belly, holding my entire torso like a corset. More metallic clashing confirms that He wants me well-tied and with my front exposed. When I think He’s finished, my Master forces me to open my mouth, places a silicone gag that fills it completely, and tightens it forcefully behind my head.

My cock throbs again with the excitement of being trapped at His mercy, hooded and gagged. The pungent scent of the material that covers the room envelops me completely, as well as the captivity of the straps that prepare me for whatever my Master has in mind to do to me. I am conditioned to this submission after years of servitude as His collared slave.

He leans close to my right ear and whispers: “You already know the morning protocol, and today will be no exception. But it will be more painful.” Will there be a cold shower? It seems so. I hear the sound of a tap, and after a few boot steps, the pressure of the cold water on my body pulls a groan from me that wakes me up with a start. My Master cleans me like an animal with the hose and, after turning off the tap, I feel the scrape of a hard bristled brush on my skin. “Since you behaved like an animal without control or a brain who injures himself driven by pleasure, today I will treat you as such. Don’t worry, I’m going to get all the bugs and ticks you have stuck on you.”

Bound, I can’t escape the bristled brush that my Master firmly runs over my entire body. The straps prevent me from avoiding the brush from going over the sensitive areas on my sides and the insides of my legs. I moan and squirm without being able to stop it, and I know that my Master is enjoying it, and that excites me too. With my mistake, I have given Him the opportunity to torture me without remorse or pity, and I know He is relishing it.

Everything stops and it seems to be over. “This is an extra so you remember it well.” I feel His body trapping me against the wall again, and how He pushes my butt away from the wall with one hand to then run the brush over the flogged and inflamed area. I squirm, scream, plead, cry—all at once—but I want to keep feeling His contact on my skin, His firm hands gripping me so I can’t run away, the smell of the sweat He’s pouring from His effort in the little air that enters through the only free hole in the mask.

Now everything stops for real. I don’t know how long the shower lasted today. They’re never this long, never this intense. He frees me from the wall, and blinded, I kneel at His feet to kiss His boots, to lick the water splashed on Them. I get emotional in silence inside the mask as I feel a certain tenderness in the way He dries me with the towel while I adore Him on my knees. I feel peace as my cooled, sore body appreciates the warmth that envelops every part of me, a massage directed by His hands that touch my nipples, my butt, my caged cock vibrating with desire, trapped inside the metal shell.

My Master pulls away and leaves me on the floor, exposed and blind. I hear a metallic noise near me that I identify as two dog bowls. “Crawl, worm.” I approach on all fours, guided by His voice and the sound of the food falling into one of the bowls. It’s probably the leftovers of His dinner, mashed and mixed with rice and other things to make a textureless paste. I was able to touch the container, so I know I have it in front of me. I can’t smell well inside the mask, but it doesn’t matter because I’ll eat it anyway.

I wait patiently, motionless, for His signal. He puts the mittens on my hands as the eating ritual commands. A worm has no hands to hold food with, and the mittens are a constant reminder that hands should not be used. When I hear the snap of His fingers, I nod my head in silence and lower my mouth to the bowl to find the food with my tongue, and I begin to eat in silence.

As I eat, I feel His hands stroking my head. There is Master’s affection in that gesture that comforts me. Sometimes He likes to put clamps on my nipples or a plug in my ass so I feel the humiliation and pain even when I eat, but today that doesn’t seem to be the case. He probably has a long day ahead of Him and wants to save my body for what is to come.

He takes the bowl away and I stay still. I hear Him spit into it and the sound of Him mixing it with the food. When I hear the container return to the floor, I wait for the signal again. Another snap, and I go back to burying my face in it to keep eating with even more happiness, feeling that He is gifting me His essence, which will become a part of me, and I sink even deeper into my worm space, of an animal that doesn’t decide what it eats, what it drinks, or what it does.

Blind, I can’t know if I’ve finished everything that was there. I’m sure there are leftovers. With the mittens, I grope in the dark and locate the other bowl next to me, to drink. I already know what will be there, and I enjoy drinking it. When I finish, I open my mouth, because I know what’s coming. “Finish what you left.” His hand enters my mouth with the leftovers I couldn’t get, and I lick His hand to leave it clean of my food. He does the same two more times, putting His hand deep into my throat as if He were fucking me with His fist, until He finally takes the bowls away.

He wipes my mouth with a napkin and, immediately, puts the gag back on, tightening it with force as He leans close to my ear. “Now that you don’t have any bugs and you’ve eaten, we’re going to get even.” My cock hardens with violence, anticipating pain and sadism. I am ready.